What the @x!%?

It’s fine. I’m fine.

I started to lead reading sessions at a new site the other day as part of my work with The Reader. It was fantastic to meet some young people in a criminal justice setting and to share stories together. After almost nine months of waiting to start in-person groups, it was both scary and a relief to finally get to do it. And you know what? It felt as if I’d been doing it for years. Impostor syndrome made an attempt to say something but she shut up pretty quickly as I just got on with the job. 

One of the first things the librarian said to me was, “Nice to finally meet you! Do you swear by any chance?” I was nonplussed but admitted that, yes, I do have a bit of a potty mouth. It’s no surprise that in those settings the language is fairly colourful; it’s probably a release of some sort but it’s also psychologically very healthy.

Various studies have found that our tolerance for pain is higher when we’re swearing. In one experiment, subjects had to plunge their hands into ice-cold water while a timer measured how long they could cope. Those who shouted out curse words were able to last longer. About ten years ago celebrities got involved – have a look here to see how Brian Blessed got on (you can probably guess).

“Life’s disappointments are harder to take when you don’t know any swear words.”

Calvin & Hobbes

Before you get too excited and start introducing foul language into everyday interactions, there’s a caveat. Isn’t there always? Because it turns out that the effect is only noticeable if the subject doesn’t regularly swear. The brain seems to be startled into pain-management mode only if it’s equally startled by the bad words. 

So hold your tongue when things are normal so that you can keep the big bad words in reserve. Next time you stub your toe or hit your funny bone, you can shout all sorts of words into the air and find relief. And you can thank me later.

Why Didn’t I Think of That?

I’ve been noticing all sorts of cool things recently – all about poetry or literature, of course. And I realised, as I looked into two in particular, that the green-eyed monster was approaching. Standing just behind the initial appreciation was that secretive beast: envy.

He stared out in silence as I read all about The Poetry Pharmacist who travels all around to hand out poems in response to various ailments. And there’s a book of course. I want to do that! I heard myself say.

He smiled and shook his head as I read about The Emergency Poet who recently opened a storefront (and adorable) space in Shropshire – consulting room with velvet couch, open mic events, and books lining all the walls. And there’s a book of course. I want to do that! I heard myself say.

But the more I looked, the more the green monster began to frown and back away. Because I was slowly learning how to find joy in someone else’s success. I’m trying to turn envy into inspiration that can push me onwards in my own literary journey. Hey, I could find an empty shop unit and dispense poems to passersby. I could drive all around the country to find people who are hurting and offer words to heal. Who knows what the future holds?

And meantime, I can find inspiration in the shed to keep creating something that someday, somehow, will reach someone. And I thought of that!

A love letter to books

It’s World Book Day. Where would we be without them? Here’s my love letter.

Dear Books,
What can I say? You’ve been by my side for as long as I can remember: from childhood fairytales to midlife learning; from university libraries to cosy Tuesday afternoons with a cup of tea and a cat on my lap. 

The world opened up thanks to you.

When life hurt you offered shelter under Ladybird wings, gifted Shakespeare to my confused teenage mind. I got out of hospital and you knew I needed cartoon comfort, leaving Calvin and Hobbes on my bed. Health fears and lockdowns had you rummaging around for something new to surprise me with – the poems of John O’Donohue.

When life was light you offered Thomas Hardy to share my university journey, dropping copies of anything by Neil Gaiman when I was ready to escape into other worlds. When laughter was required you reached out a hand to tickle my sides with Bill Bryson. 

Lately you seem to know that my mind needs to be expanded and I found a 500-page tome by Yuval Noah Harari on my desk.

Most of all, you’ve pushed The Great Gatsby into my hands at regular intervals to bring me home. Words heal, you taught me that. And I’ll always be grateful.

Happy World Book Day. 
Love, Susan

Did You See That?

As the world unravels around us and the feelings of powerlessness start to bite, I’ve taken refuge in nature and (of course) books. Poetry really does hit the spot when all else fails. And there’s nothing like major international crises to switch our focus from big to small. I can’t fix pandemics or conflicts but I can pause in my day to look up at the sky. Other things I’ve noticed: a seagull woke me up this morning with a screeching laugh; the daffodils beside the shed are still trying to come up; Hugo the kitten’s eyebrows are gorgeous.

It’s a scary world, and it was ever thus. Megalomaniac despots will always make a grab for land. Viruses will always make a grab for hosts. But we are here. And in every day there are moments of beauty. Be open to them and they’ll find you.

Here’s my Thought for the Day about my encounter with a goshawk and everything she taught me.

Click to visit the BBC site and listen